Titanic: A Bella and Edward story
by xoxo41
Summary: The year is 1912, and it is the Titanic's maiden voyage. Bella is a rich girl while Edward is a poor man. What happens when two lives collide? A bit OOC because Bella is rich and Edward isn't. Not a Jack and Rose story! All human! R&R please!
1. Chapter 1 The RMS Titanic

"Mother, please. You are making my corset much too tight."

She pulled the strings tighter, making my breath come out in a gasp.

"Stop complaining, Bella."

I took a breath, but it was stopped short by the confinement that came with the blasted corset.

The year was nineteen-twelve, the month, April. Mother and I were going to sail on the _Titanic_, for it's maiden voyage.

First class, of course. I wouldn't expect anything less.

Another tight pull on the lacing, and my corset was finally on. My breathing was shallower, but my back was straighter and my bosom looked more impressive, as the hourglass shape of my torso.

I slipped on my lavender dress and put my hair back in an elegant twist. Presentation was key, of course. And when your finances are twice above the average, people expect that.

Though, there are always drawbacks to things. Yes, I can marry any man I want, but that has it's restrictions. I can chose any man I want, as long as he is as bloody rich as me. So you see, I _am _engaged, to a man by the name of James. He's rich of course, but that is about it.

I have no father. He had passed away a few years back. He was a good man, beneath his greed. I don't think he ever knew what the true definition of family was, for he was never with mother and I. His money came before everything, and I think his obsession with it is what caused his death.

I am a woman of nearly eighteen. My life has been completely revolved around money, and I have also gotten whatever I had ever wished for. Money can not buy happiness is but a silly joke to the wealthy. Why, just last week mother and I were talking to our old friend, Elizabeth, when she made the remark,

"Why! Money can not buy happiness! I beg to differ! Do you mean to tell me that you would not be happy if you could buy anything you wanted? For God's sake, no! Money _can _make you happy! Yes, yes. It can."

Mother laughed, agreeing with her, while I nodded, forcing a smile on my face, for I was not happy. I was being forced to marry a man with money, and I spent my day with people twice my age, bragging about how much money they have gained since the last time we have been together. Money, indeed, could not buy happiness. It could only buy things to keep the illusion of happiness continuing.

Do not get me wrong, for I do not wish I was poor! Oh no, no, no! I would think not! I have grown up in London my entire life, and there are many poor souls living in dark alleys, for I have seen more than I wished I had. Filthy people. Torn clothing and foul stenches are their main attractions. No, never would I wish myself poor. Slightly above average without being too rich, yes, but poor, no. I shudder at the ghastly thought.

My mother calls for me. It is time to travel to where the _Titanic _will sail for the first time.

* * *

"Bella!"

I blink twice. "Yes mother?"

My mother did not look much like me. She had a strange shade of red hair, while I had very dark brown hair, with only a hint of red that only showed in the sunlight. She was taller than average, while I, was small. I took after my father's features, brown eyes, full lips, while the only thing I took from my mother was her perfectly straight nose. I was thankful I took after my mom with that, because my father had a very large nose, and it would not look good on a woman in the least.

"Stop your day dreaming at look at the ship. She's a beauty, don't you agree?"

Indeed, I did agree. The ship was the largest thing I have ever seen. It was a wonder that it could float atop the water without sinking into the mysterious ocean. Windows, millions of windows, lined the ship, while cylinders a mile high were in the middle of it.

I smiled faintly. "A beauty indeed," I murmur.

A gentleman escorted us up the plank, onto the ship. I felt very small when I stepped foot on it. Smaller than I had ever felt in my life. I should never like to go back to that feeling.

The _RMS Titanic _offered an on-board swimming pool, a gymnasium, a Turkish bath, libraries for both the first and second class, and a squash court. We walked to the first-class rooms next, which were adorned with elaborate wood paneling, expensive furniture and other expensive decorations. The _Café Parisien _offered cuisine for the first-class passengers, with a sunlit veranda fittted with trellis decorations. One could not deney it's breathtaking beauty, not even I.

The captin was Captain Edward J. Smith. The ship was leaving at Southampton, England, and was bound for New York City, New York. The date was April tenth.

* * *

_Something you may not know about me, I wish I was born in the era where the girls wore those pretty dresses and talked like they did, and the men were gentlemen. Anybody else? No? Just me? Alright... (:  
_  
_I'm really excited about this story. I have been wanting to write a story in the early 1900's, and I finally am.  
REVIEW!!_

_P.S. Don't worry, the first chapter is always the shortest. The second chapter is when the real story begins._


	2. Chapter 2 I'm going to America!

**Edward's Point Of View.**

"One dollar! Do I hear two dollars?!"

The auctioneer was selling one third-class ticket to the _RMS Titanic_. I had no more than three dollars on me, and it was supposed to last me for the rest of the week, and it was only Wednesday. I couldn't, under any circumstances, even think about bidding.

"One dollar going once!"

I hear conversation around me. Mostly centered around the ship and the voyage. Conversations that went a bit like,

"I told ya, Stella. Wif how big that ship is it can't float. 'Tis a fake. A conspiracy, even. Innit?"

"Ain't a fake, Archie. 'Ow can it not float when it floating before your own eyes!"

"Witchcraft! The ship is damned to the murky grave. Wif all that steel 'tis a wonder it lasted this long. Must be the witchcraft. Yes! The witchcraft!"

I shake my head and chuckle under my breath.

"One dollar going twice!"

If this was a rich town you would be sure that one dollar wouldn't even be the minimum starting bid, let alone the amount that was going to send some lucky man to sea, set for America.

America. What I wouldn't give to see that big statue everyone talks about. The Statue of Liberty. I hear she's a beauty; not that I would know. I've never been out of the small London city I've lived all my days.

It's a nice little city. Full of people who aren't filthy rich or hold themselves on their own personal pedestal. No. Full of people who, if they could afford it, would be on the third-class section of the _Titanic_.

I feel a shove against me. Normally I would have shoved back, but something stopped me from doing so, and I refrained. I was shoved again, but this time I felt something being shoved into my hand.

I look down. Five dollars were placed into my hand! I looked around for the man who had given me this, and found no one.

All of this happened in a matter of seconds.

"One ticket to the _RMS Titanic--_"

"Two dollars!" I yell. My voice rings out around me, bouncing off walls and echoing several times.

The auctioneer smiled, obviously thrilled that he had more money to put in his pocket.

"Sold to the man with two dollars!"

A smile spreads across my lips. I've don't have time to reconsider my decision, and I step up to the auctioneer, and replace the two dollars in my hand for one third-class ticket to the _RMS Titanic_.

"You better get going, there, Edward! I hear she's leaving in a quarter of an hour!"

I tip my cap to the informer. My old buddy, William.

"Thanks," I yell as I jump from the stage and run to the East, where the _Titanic _will be sailing in an quarter of an hour, with me on board.

People yell at me as I run through the town, to Southampton, where my life will change. It wasn't until the ship was in sight when I forgot to pack all of my things.

I laugh at myself, and run faster.

Pack! How could I possibly pack when I know I'm going to America!

* * *

**Bella's Point of View.**

The crowd surrounding the ship was multiplying by the second. To my disgust I saw more than a handful of poor people boarding the ship.

I shy away from the window, and overlook my room.

It's all a navy blue. My bed is round, and is surrounded my an overhang of curtains of dark blue silk. My vanity is to the right of it, and my closet to the left. It's a cozy room that even features a fireplace. There's a sitting area outside of my room that is just as cozy as the bedroom, and the same color.

I hear a knock at the main door and I sigh. I had a pretty good insight of who it would be, for, at the moment, only two people knew where my room was. I was sure it wasn't mother; she was talking to some of the friends who were also on the boat.

I smooth out my dress and walk to the door, taking my time, for I knew it was James, here to see me.

I turn the knob and it reveals my finacee.

"Hello, James," I greet, gesturing him in.

He takes my hand and strokes the ring. He smirks and drops my hand without kissing the back of it, like a proper gentleman.

Men have it so easy. It is extremely unfair! They had their pick of whatever women they wanted, whether she was rich or poor, because marrying a poor girl wasn't as great as a sin as marrying a poor man. No. Not to society. For the moment I wish I was a man. The ease of life and the freedom of wearing trousers with no corset! I could not even begin to imagine.

He moved his lips closer to my own, and I duck before he can press them against them.

I force myself to cough.

"You will have to excuse me, James, but I'm afraid I'm coming down with something. Wouldn't want to be too close to me, now would you?"

He raises an eyebrow.

"Bella, my dear. Shall I send for the doctor? Maybe you should skip this voyage, and go onto the next one. America will wait."

I stop my coughing immediately. He doesn't believe me and is going along with my bluff.

"No. I must have just had something loged in it. I'm quite fine, thank you."

He smiles, but the smile is condescending. James could make a tiger feel like a small kitten with that smile.

"The ship is about to sail, Bella. Are you sure you have everything."

"Hmm," I say, for I have everything but happiness, which is the only thing I do not have, that I wish I had.

I sit down on the couch and he follows suit, sitting closer to me than was proper, even for a finacee.

"Let us be a gentleman," I say, moving to another couch.

He asks embarrassed, but I know he is anything but. James was not a proper gentleman, and did not care for improperness when it came to the ladies.

"Do forgive me, Bella."

I nod as he stands up.

"I'll come back to escort you to dinner."

"Yes James. Goodbye."

"Bye, Bella."

I watch him walk away and when I hear the door click I lean my head against the couch and stare up at the ceiling.

"Bye bye bye," I whisper to myself. "Why is everybody always saying good-bye?"

I feel a movement under me, and for a few brief seconds everything shakes.

It rumbles and vibrates.

Then everything is still just as quickly as it moved.

The ship has taken off.

* * *

_I was re-reading the first chapter, and realized that Caption Edward J. Smith might confuse people. IT IS NOT EDWARD CULLEN. That is the boy who started off of the chapter. If I had confused anybody, sorry. I wanted to use the real name of the captain, and it didn't even occur to me that people might think that that is Edward Cullen._

_Also, I had someone say that they hope this isn't a Jack and Rose story, just substituted with Edward and Bella. It isn't. Though I may look back on that for inspiration, I do not want to make it exactly like that, because what kind of story would that be? A boring one, that's what._

_My second chapter of the day. Shows you how much I love this, huh?_

_REVIEW!!_


	3. Chapter 3 What a strange color!

_Sorry I posted chapter 2 instead of this. I'm not sure how that happened, I meant to post this. _

**Edward's point of view.**

I jump onto the plank with so much force that I was sure it would buckle. I hear a man shout that I need a ticket to board the boat, and with a most satisfied grin, I threw the bunched up ticket to him. He grumbles and tells me where my section is.

I slowly spin around in a full circle. I see windows, the captain's area, cylinders, people of all financial situations, and small children running away from their mothers, who are scolding them for going off without them. I laugh freely. A sudden feeling goes over me. A feeling that I am an important person—for I am aboard the _Titanic! _Bound for New York City! It is a very agreeable feeling, and I want it to last forever, but I feel a shifting under me and it catches me off guard, and I fall to the floor with a small _thump, _and the moment is ruined. I have no experience with ships, but I found it safe to assume that the safe has sailed. I hade made it just in time.

I laugh at myself and hurry to get up, lest I be mortified.

That causes another string of laughter. When is a poor man ever not looked upon as mortified!

I see a man walking towards me. He is a rich man, for I can tell by his clothes and the way he walks. His posture is too straight, it's as if he has bought a corset for himself! And he walks as if he is above all others. Not meeting anyone's eye and shoving into poor people like me, who, to society, are so below the rich that we do not even deserve to be breathing the same air.

He jams his shoulder into my back and I have to regain my balance, lest I shall fall again.

He chuckles behind me and continues to walk away. I curse him under my breath and I no longer like where I am standing. I walk to the third-class section of the _Titanic _and look for my door. Ah, here it is. Number twenty. I glance in it and am not disappointed, nor surprised.

It is not lavish, of course. Just a small cot for a bed and a wooden table beside it. I'm accustomed to these type of rooms, for it is all I can ever expect. I am a disgrace to the human race and shall be punished for it.

The feeling I had felt when I had first walked onto the boat has diminished, and I am once again put in my place.

If you can call it a place, that is.

I throw my hat atop my bed and scurry back out onto the ship, for I have much to learn about sailing.

** Bella's Point of View.**

I do not feel like attending dinner, but I am afraid I have no choice. In about three-quarters of an hour, James will come for me, and I will be escorted to the dining room.

I stand up from my couch and walk out of my assigned room. I walk down the hall, adorned with light blue wall paper, and crystal glass chandeliers. The floor is a carpet, and it cushions my feet, for I have done two very unladylike and scandalous things. I am about to walk around an unfamiliar place unescorted by a man, and I am barefoot, no less.

Oh, the dreaded not-to-be-barefoot role. It is a tie between which I hate most; wearing a bloody corset or always having to wear shoes.

I pay this no more of my attention, and I continue to wonder off. I ignore the people who look at me, shocked at my lack of shoes and a man by my side, and continue my way to the main ship.

I open the last door and am welcomed by a most agreeable _swish _of an ocean breeze. I smile, and I am content for the small moment. It passes as fast as it has come, and I begin my journey again.

I say my hello's to the rich, wave to the middle-class, and ignore the poor, though I pity them. They are as good as dead to the rest of the world—no one really minds if they are dead or alive. They are but a nuisance to higher society. To me, though, I can not say the are a nuisance. If I never have to dine with them, or carry on an agreeable conversation with them, I do not mind them so.

I spot a man to the right of me, and look at him much longer than was proper, though I do not know why, for he is a poor man. He is wearing tan trousers and a white button-up shirt that is soiled with dirt. At first glance he seems a very ordinary man, but it does not take but a moment to spot what makes him stand out among his kind.

His hair. I have said many times that my mother has the oddest shade hair I had ever seen, but this man had just made me reconsider my statement, for his hair is the queerest shade I have ever seen, even compared to her. I try to put my finger on the color, but I find that I can not place it. I ponder this and soon find the closet thing I can associate the color with. Bronze. Yes. Bronze. Very much so. I have never seen anything like it in all of my days, and I have seen a lot.

I could not help myself from staring at it. As if he sensing I am staring at him, he turns his head and looks at me.

I am a descent distance away from the man, but I notice his eyes as if I were only a few inches from them. They are another shade that I have never seen before. An extravagant emerald green that surpasses any eye color that I had ever seen, even in my wildest imaginations. The third thing I notice about the man is his face. He is much to handsome to be poor, and I wonder if it is an act. Do not get me wrong, for I have seen a handful, but only a handful, of handsome poor men, but he is different. He wasn't even handsome—no, that word did not do him justice, for he was…well, he was beautiful. I would have thought it impossible, but a poor man has taken my breath away. To my utter astonishment, I am bewitched.

He smirks as me and turns back to the man he was talking to.

I replay it in my head. _He smirked and turned away from my gaze_. I find that I am very vexed at this, for I have never seen it. A poor man should be honored to hold a gaze with someone who held a very high place in society!

* * *

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	4. Chapter 4 Blasted wood!

**Edward's Point of View.**

I sense somebody staring a hole into the back of my head, and I turn around.

A woman no older than twenty, nor younger than sixteen, is staring at me with a peculiar expression. She is beautiful, dark hair and eyes, but she is also rich. I smirk at her.

Ah, to be rich. I would not wish a thing on my worst enemy--no, no. I probably would. So self-centered and selfish. No true friends, for if you should ever lose your money, how many rich friends would you have then?

I look at her for but a moment, and then I look away. I wish I had eyes in the back of my head so I could see the shock on her face that had to be there. Rich people could not tolerate someone "below" them not staring at them, and wishing they _were _them.

"Aye, she's a perty one."

I turn back to the conversation I was having with my friend, Patrick.

"She might be pretty, but she's rich, which is just as bad as being ugly," I argue.

Patrick shrugs and smiles his near toothless grin. "I'd 'ave 'er any day."

I grin and say, "That's the difference between you and me. I'll marry for love."

"Yes, Edward, but if she's rich, I'm sure I could be teached to love 'er!"

We laugh and make our way to get our dinner.

* * *

**Bella's Point of View.**

I stomp away from the beautiful poor man and right back into my room, where James is standing outside of the door, knocking and begging me to let him in.

"I'm right here, James," I sigh as I come up to him.

He pulls on his collar, a gesture that meant he was either nervous or embarrassed, and says, "How many people saw you walking around like that, Bella. You know you have to keep up your reputation. I would never marry a woman who's reputation was injured."

"I'm sorry," I lie, but I don't dare to argue. I am a woman and I should get used to the way woman are spoken to by the men, however unfair that may be.

"No matter. Change into your dinner dress."

I keep in my rebuttal and walk into my room and head straight for the closet. I pick out the first dress I see. A dark green dress with jewels in nonsense places, and slip it on.

I go back into the hallway and James laces his arm through mine as we walk into the main dining room.

* * *

I push my food around my plate, not caring to eat another nine-course dinner of caviar, lamb, and oysters. The conversation around me was typical, and I did not care to tune in.

"Bella? What do you think of the _Titanic_?"

I answer without looking up. "It is alright, I suppose. Lacking in a few places, and excelling in others."

"Bella," my mother chides, "mind your manners."

My mother would not dare be disgraced in public, her pride was far too important. I rise my head and stare straight ahead, at a maroon-colored wall, and the conversation resumes.

I go to take a deep breath but am restricted by my corset.

"Mother, may I be excused?"

She pretends not to hear me, so I play along with her little game and yell it to her.

"Mother! May I be excused, please!"

My voice echos off of the walls, and the only sound is gasps of shock at my horrid manners, or silverware clanking off of a fine piece of china.

My mother fixes me with a cold stare and I rise from my seat, not minding her answer.

I want to run, so I have to pull my dress up to my knees--terribly immodest of me--and run out of the room, leaving my mother fuming.

When I reach the deck I am overcome by satisfaction. To make the feeling last longer I remove my heels and throw them over the railing, where they splash into the cold and unforgiving ocean.

I prance around, dancing to my own little tune. I hum and spin around, still holding my dress above what was modest. I half-expect my mother or James to run out and fetch me any minute, and I am thankful when the minutes pass, and nobody comes.

I laugh to myself, a laugh of freedom, and I feel a pain in my foot, and I fall.

"Mother of God!" I gasp and I hit the wooden floor, the bottom of my foot still hurting.

I close my eyes and sigh. It seems nothing can go right for me, no matter what. I hear someone approaching, and I shuffle to my feet to stand up. What I apply my weight to my foot, the pain is anew.

I notice that the person approaching me is the man with the bronze hair and green eyes. He is staring at me and his face implies that he wants to laugh but is trying to be a gentleman and hold it in.

I dust off my dress. "I trust you quite enjoyed that," I say bitterly. I turn on my heel to stalk away, but my blasted foot aches again and I have no choice but to sit down on the bench.

I look at the bottom of my foot and I see a splinter has taken refuge in it.

"Excuse me, but aren't you missing the champagne and caviar?"

He means does not mean this literally, he is only trying to make a fool of me. I find that I am vexed and astonished at the same time.

"Aren't you missing your dinner also? What is on the menu today, pray tell? Rat?"

He does not appear to be put in his place, only amused.

"Rat? No, I believe you are mistaken. Rat is tomorrow's meal. Today is cockroach sandwiches."

My mouth hangs wide open in shock, and he begins to laugh and I realize that he was only kidding. I feel the blush rise to my cheeks, and I look down.

I gasp when I feel a hand grip my foot and fingers press against the tender area. I look up and the man is pulling out tweezers, about to attempt to take out the wooden splinter.

"I beg your pardon!" I say, trying to grab my foot back. "This is a job only for a doctor!"

He smiles. "So rich people need a doctor for a mere splinter. Go on then. It's going to be a painful walk there, though, I'm afraid. Do try not to get another one, for I had seen you throw your shoes into the water."

He has a point and I am in a pickle.

"Just get it out," I complain.

He shakes his head. "I'm afraid I had already offered my services, and you had declined."

I see what he is trying to do, but I was _not _going to beg a poor man to get a splinter out.

I go to stand up, but I forgot how horrid the pain of my foot was, and I am forced to sit back down.

I swallow hard.

_"Please?"_

* * *

___  
I had a reviewer who was confused that Edward's eyes are green, not topaz. They are all human, and I apologize for not noting that._

___Finally, after four chapters they finally speak!_

___REVIEW!!_


	5. Chapter 5 What a heavenly sound!

**2 Hours Later...(6:00p.m.)**

All of my life I had been the perfect little girl. To my mother, Renee, I am a project. She wants to mold me to become exactly like her. To my father, Charlie, I was an angel who could do nothing wrong and didn't dare to bend the rules. To society I was the daughter of parents who held large fortune, therefore I was the picture of how a young lady should turn out. I was utterly sick of it. Why couldn't I bend the rules like other girls? Girls in the middle class stations, and even the third. They weren't molded and shaped to society's liking. They could be whoever they wanted to be, and no one "cared" enough to stop them or tell them otherwise. They didn't go to finishing schools, and, damn it, if they wanted a second helping of dessert they got it!

I do not know why I am suddenly overwhelmed with a longing to see the man who fixed my foot. To think that my life would amount to this, though. Wanting to see a poor man! A person who is less than dirt to my society!

I do not stop to think about this, though. I only stop to think of a reason to go see the man, who's name I did not know yet. I try to think of something that doesn't make it obvious that it is only a mere excuse to see him. I decide that I could give him a reward of money. The amount, though, I wasn't quite sure how much to give. More than twenty dollars seemed an insult, yet under ten seemed an insult also. I decide fifteen would be sufficient, and I am on my way, out of the door, and down to the third-class section of the boat.

I look for the man for a quarter of an hour with no luck. I make a face as I decide to ask someone if they have seen him.

I go up to a man with a brown cap on, and tap him on the shoulder.

"Excuse me," I say.

The man turns around and smiles a grin. He is not bad looking, he is tall and lean with blonde hair and light blue eyes.

"Howdy there, miss. What can I do for you? Name's Jasper."

He offers a hand and I swallow hard and shake back.

"I was just wondering if you know of a man with bronze-like hair and green eyes? He would be in your station."

The man, Jasper, thinks for a moment, and then says, "Ah. Talking about Edward, aren't you?"

"I suppose so, though I don't really know his name..."

Jasper looks at me, his expression was one of confusion and adoration for the rich woman before him.

"Yes. I'm pretty sure you'd be talking about Edward. He's a good friend of mine, and the only one I've seen with the bronze hair you're talking about, and green eyes. He's probably looking around for the music room. I don't know if they have one for the third class, so he's probably sneaking around, looking for one. Whether if it's above his class or not is irrelevant. Edward doesn't mind his manners when it comes to his music. He's really serious about it."

"He's musical?" I ask. Somehow I can't conjure up the image in my mind, but I wasn't so surprised. The ma--Edward doesn't seem like the average poor person.

"Musical! Yes! Should you ever hear him you would be amazed. He had taught himself, you know. He began playing when he was just a kid and got better as the years went on."

For a reason I can not name, I stand hear, listening to Jasper explain Edward to me.

"He wasn't always a third-classer. He had once been a second-classer, just on the edge of first."

I can not keep my curiosity at bay, and I blurt out, "What happened?"

"Parents died. From what Edward has told me, they were nice people. Their names were Elizabeth and Edward Sr. His mom had the same hair color as him, but he told me that he got his features from his dad."

"How did they die?"

"The Spanish Influenza. His dad came down with it first, and his mom caught it a few days before he died. Edward stayed with his mom as long as she allowed it. When things got really bad for her she made Edward leave so he wouldn't catch it. He said it killed him to walk away, but it was her wish, and how could he have denied her, when it was the last thing she was asking of him? As you get to know him, you'll see how much of a happy guy he is. He doesn't take things for granted, and life's a gift for him. He's seen how fast things can be taken away from somebody, and he intends to make every second count. It takes a lot to get him angry."

"What's his last name?"

"Previous or current?"

My face must have given away my confusion.

"He was twelve when his parents died. Not nearly old enough to live on his own. Two newlyweds, Esme and Carlisle, had adopted him a year later. That's what changed Edward's financial situation. The money that Edward would have inherited was used for his parent's medical bills, so he was left will just about nothing. Esme and Carlisle didn't have much more money, but their hearts were full of love, and that was enough for Edward."

Somebody calls Jasper's name, and he says his goodbyes and leaves.

Part of the mystery that was Edward had been cleared up, thanks to Jasper. I can not understand why this makes me happy, for I was just criticizing the man not too long ago. Oh, no, no, no! I can not say I was criticizing him, just merely assessing him.

Even though I know this is a bloody lie to myself, I keep saying it to myself so I believe it. And when I do, I go looking for the music room.

I check the third-class section, too, and find that it is empty, save for the bedrooms, bathrooms, and cafeteria. I go to the second-class next, and I find the music room very easily. A sound as sweet as heaven floats from the room, and lures me into it. Edward is there, and I am amazed, for I have payed one hundred dollars for the finest musicians to play the piano for me, and none can even come close to his perfection. The tune is unlike anything I had ever heard before, and it seems to put me in a trance that I only come out of when the music stops.

"Hello."

I blink, and Edward is there, smiling a crooked smile. His voice is mesmerizing. Velvet and like an angel's. It is almost as beautiful as his piano playing and his face when he smiles lop-sided.

I should like to kill myself for thinking of this with a man of no money. When I think of this it makes me feel guilty, and then I get myself mad again.

"Hi. I came to give you something."

He pats the spot next to him, and I find myself walking over and sitting next to him, against my will.

Bloody hell.

**Edward's Point of View.**

I invite the girl to sit next to me, though I do not know why, for I have always told myself that I dislike the rich, and would never even look at one for more than a mere second. Now look at me! Inviting her to sit down beside me!

Bloody hell.

"You play piano very nicely."

I want to scoff. _Nicely_. I am not vain of my piano playing, but I know that it is better than _nicely_. I do not argue, because I realize she is prejudice.

"Thank you. What brings you to the lower-class?"

She makes a face and I want to hang myself when I notice her beauty. When she is upset she brings her eyebrows together, which causing lines to form on her forehead, which, curiously, enhances her beauty. Those brown eyes hold a spark that I have never noticed with a rich woman, or man, for that matter. I always thought the rich could not hold a spark, because their lives were spark-less.

"I came to repay you for your kindness today."

She presents me with fifteen dollars.

I shake my head. "I couldn't possibly accept such money. It was only a splinter, and a splinter only."

She nods, but further encourages me to take it.

"Things are so much more expensive in New York City. Please take it."

It debate with myself for a moment, when I finally decide to take it.

"Thank you so very much..."

"Bella," she fills is.

I smile.

And I begin to think that maybe Bella is different from the rest, and I begin to ask her another question, when a woman walks in, clearly rich.

"Bella. James and Renee are looking for you. Do come on."

Her eyes open wide when she sees Bella sitting next to me, clearly a poor man. I feel the bitterness build inside of me and I encourage Bella to go along. I can not explain why it makes me happy when she says she does not want to go yet.

"Bella," the girl calls again.

"I'm coming, Rose. Do hush it."

I laugh when she leaves the room, for I have never heard a woman tell somebody to hush it!

Yes. Bella is different.

_Does anybody notice that the two think alike? Bella is prejudice against the poor, and Edward is prejudice against the rich? They think Bloody Hell when they realize that they are going against what they have ever thought about each other's kind. I find it so cute._

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	6. Chapter 6 Sweet dreams

**Thank you, from the very depths of my heart, thank you so much for all of your reviews. Waking up in to morning to twenty+ fanfiction alerts, and reviews is the ultimate reward fore writing (though writing is a reward in itself). Thank you so much to my regular reviewers, and to my new ones. I love you all!!**

"Rose," I say. "You need not have fetched me in that manner."

Rosalie scoffs and scurries forward a ways. "You think I wanted to cross over and go looking for you in a place of lower class than ours? Ha! Do not think about yourself, Bella. It isn't very becoming."

I sigh. There really is no point arguing with Rosalie Hale, for she will always either twist what you say or find fault where there is none.

Oh, no, do not get me wrong, for I love Rosalie. She is eighteen—only a few months older than I, and is the person I can always talk about with personal problems. I do feel bad for her, also, for she is neither married; nor engaged or even being courted, though that is her fault, and her fault alone. Rosalie is so beautiful and handsome that any man would be willing to take her in a mere heartbeat. Rosalie, though, is too picky for her own good. She doesn't even give men their chances.

"Your mother is going to scold you. I would be prepared, for I have reason to believe that even James has a few choice words."

I look down and blush. I bite my lip as I think as a good excuse.

_"Oh, no mother! I was not wondering around unescorted! I was simply looking down at the ocean, and I got lost when I was trying to go back. So many halls and doors! It is a wonder that one would not get lost in such a place!"_

Not paying attention to where I was going, I tripped over something—probably my own feet—and fell, catching myself with the palms on my hands. I scrap them, but pay no mind as I hurry to my feet. When I am standing I take a peek at Rose and she is staring at me, a smile playing on the corners of her mouth.

"My dear Bella. It is a wonder that you can walk around at all with your bearings! Here, take me hand. I'll lead you to your room where you can sit."

Trying to hold onto the little dignity I had left, I hoist up my dress and walk ahead of Rosalie. She laughs and follows behind me. I mind where my feet are, so as to not make another fool out of myself.

We manage to get to my room where Rosalie and I walk into. My mother and James are sitting on my couch and rise immediately at my arrival.

"Bella, my fiancé. Do tell me you're alright. You had us a fright with worry."

"I am sorry James." I turn to my mother. "Do forgive me."

"Bella." She says it sternly and for a moment I picture her as the dark gentleman himself. (A/N. The Dark Gentleman is the devil.) It is a surprisingly funny image and I find myself having to hold back laughter. "You are never to do such a thing again. You did not tell I nor James, nor anybody, that you were taking off."

I do not want to hear anymore of her nonsense, and I interrupt her with a whisper that grows louder with every word. "I am a grown woman now—I need not tell anybody where I plan to go! Just because I am a woman does not mean I have to be treated differently. Men can go someone wherever and whenever they want. I'll be damned if I can not do the same!"

My mother is astonished and James' smile is a smug one.

"I told you Mrs. Swan," he says to her. "Young woman can not be taught to speak up for themselves." He turns to me. "Did you not go to finishing school to learn to be a lady? Did they not teach you that ladies do not shout, curse, nor speak when they think something is not fair?"

"Maybe the did," I retort, "but that is not my way. I will not be a traditional woman. I refuse it! If you do not like it you can find a different woman to play puppet with, for you will not accomplish such with me!"

"Bella! That is surely enough!" My mother scolds. "You will stay in your room until tomorrow morning. I wi—"

"Did you not just hear me, mother? I am a grown woman now. I may do whatever I please!"

As an answer she walks out of the door. My face is flushed with anger, and I began to feel guilty, as I always do after a fight.

"Bella," James begins, his voice small, yet not a whisper. "You have me very disappointed. I trust you will behave better."

Wanting to just lie down in my bed and relax, I give him what he wants to hear. "I am so very sorry James. I truly am. My behavior today was unacceptable, and I will not do it again. I trust you will forgive me and we can put this behind us."

He nods. "Goodbye, Bella. Sleep well."

He gives me a kiss on the cheek and leaves.

* * *

That night I dream many dreams.

_The Titanic is at an odd angle. People are screaming for their lives. The sound is like nails on a chalkboard, it is so ghastly. Men are jumping overboard, plummeting to their death with a sickening splash that makes my stomach turn. I want to gag, but there is no time. I am being led farther down the boat, my hand locked around another. It is James, I tell myself, but when the head turns around I see the man with bronze hair and green eyes. Edward._

I awake frightened for many reasons. I do not have time to ponder them, for sleep pulls me under a second time, and I find myself dreaming again. Edward is starring in it for a second time.

_I wonder around the ship until I come to a door. I open it, and I see Edward. He is sleeping, his lips parted slightly and his chest bare. I see his well defined chest muscles, and I blush as my eyes travel lower, down to his stomach, were his stomach is lined with bumps of muscles. I look down lower, where a woman should never look. It is the world of an unmarried woman's unknown, and is for her not to know until she is married._

_I find I cannot help myself, and I pull myself on top of him, and kiss those soft, parted lips. He awakes, but does not push me away. His arms wrap around my waist and it feels as if my body is on fire. A slow, smoldering fire that is a most welcoming feeling. I trace his muscles with my fingertips, and a light shudder passes through him, and he brings his mouth back to mine with a strong urgency. His tongue slips into my mouth, and dances with mine. He brings his hand down to my breast, where his thumb draws small circles. He moans into my mouth, and switches our position, so I am below him, and him, atop me._

_He kisses me ever more fiercely and I find that I am falling. Falling into ecstasy. His hand travels lower and dares to brush against a part of me that I am not completely familiar with; to be so would be unladylike._

_But I am not an average lady, and I should not begin to start to act like one now. I realize that as I continue kissing this man that I am willingly giving up my virtue._

_Yet I can not tell myself to stop. I fall farther and farther until I am back in my room, in my bed._

I gasp for breath and find that I am sweating. I do not know what these dreams mean. Why is Edward in every last one of them? It must just be because of my day, with him helping me and playing such a beautiful song on the piano.

That is what I tell myself until I believe it. My breath is still shallow, and what frightens me most of all about this is that I am not totally adverse to this dream of intimacy with Edward.

No. Not at all.

_Rosalie, Jasper...slowly they are all making their way into the story. I loved writing Bella's dream! _

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	7. Chapter 7 A few questions and a blush

_I named a few characters after a few of my fanfiction friends. (: I hope I didn't do anything with them that makes you hate me now (;._

* * *

"Bella, let it go. It is only a dream, and but a dream only. If dreams were real than I would have been a normal girl with a unicorn and my best friend would be a mermaid." I whisper to myself, for the dream has me very upset. I continue to write them off as only dreams, but there is something about them that keeps me from fully succeeding. The sinking of the ship has me jumping as every bump and every bell I hear, while the dream of intimacy with the man, Edward, has me afraid for a whole other reason. He is poor, while I am rich, thereof such a thing would be an unforgivable scandal. Also, I am engaged to be married! And I can not back out of the engagement now, for the wedding is going to be but two weeks after we get settled in America. On, no. I could not.

I stop myself from thinking for a moment. I do not know why I am even thinking such things. "It is only a dream," I growl, slamming my fist down on the couch I was sitting on.

"Tea, miss?" my maid asks, holding a tray with enough supplies for tea for two.

"Yes, thank you, Barbara," I accept. "I would mind some company, too, if you don't mind."

She hesitates. She knows that if my wretched mother catches site of her carrying on a conversation with me, that she would surely be fired.

"It will be our little secret," I whisper back with a comical wink.

She laughs a little laugh and sits down across from me.

"What do you want, dear?"

I smile. "You may call me Bella, Barbara. We are friends, aren't we?"

I can see by the bright smile on her face that this little statement has made her immensely happy. I smile wider in response. "Yes, yes. I suppose we are dea—um, Bella. How many sugar cubes?"

"Five," I answer quickly. Her eyes slightly bulge in disbelief, but she adds them all into my tea and mixes them about until they are dissolved completely. I blush at my excessiveness.

"Here you go," she says.

"Thank you, Barbara," I say, and then take a sip of the tea. It swirls in my mouth, warm and sweet, before it travels into me, warming my insides and comforting me.

"Now," Barbara says. "What did you need?"

I stir my tea absently while I think of a way to tell her, sparing most of the truth. "I have a bit of a dilemma, you see."

Barbara nods, and I can see that she is excited that I have chosen her, out of everybody, to confide in. For a moment I feel a pang of sadness, for I see how little I have paid attention to Barbara, yet she has been taking care of me since I was a girl. She has always traveled with us and has never asked for a day off since she has been working for us. She really was a friend, in a way, and it is a pity that I haven't have noticed it until now. Had I have realized it earlier I would have made sure she didn't have much to do, instead of adding to her work.

"My dear Bella! What is it that has you worried? Or are you scared? Oh, do tell your old maid!"

I take another sip of tea, then rest it back onto its saucer. "You have to promise to never repeat what I am about to tell you. You have to swear."

Barbara raises her right hand solemnly and says, "I swear to the heavens."

I nod and continue. "Do you believe in dreams, Barbara?"

She looks at me queerly, and I continue to explain. "What I mean is," I swallow and whisper, "Do you believe that dreams hold meanings? Do you think they can predict the future, however bizarre they may be?"

I watch as she considers my questions. I am happy to see that she takes it as seriously as I had meant it.

"Well, Bella, that is a very difficult question to answer." She pauses. "I can not say I believe all dreams can predict the future, for what of dreams we have had when we were little girls? Unicorns, mermaids, talking to animals and them talking back, a world where there is no war, no enemies. Such things can only exist in our dreams, and even in the distance future, I believe such things will still only exist in our dreams. Years from now, centuries from now, I also believe that the questions you ask will still be asked. It is a question we all want to know, and I am afraid I have no answer for it."

I sigh. "I just want your opinion, though, Barbara. Dreams that are realistic, do you believe that they can hold a higher meaning?"

She starts to speak, but then stops herself.

"I do not think I am the person you should be asking. I am nothing but a maid. I have no education in me except reading and writing. Why don't you ask James? He's a smart man."

I stomp my foot and Barbara jumps. "I do not want to ask James! He is not the answer for everything! I asked you, did I not? I must think you are perfectly qualified to answer this, or I would not have bothered! Yes, you are a maid, but you may still have an opinion. Do not turn into all of the other maids I know of. Do not believe them when they tell you that you know nothing. I could name a few hundred of people who are stupider than dirt, and I can assure you that they have gone to the most expensive learning academies that are offered. Please, answer my questions before I am vexed further."

Barbara takes a deep breath and starts to speak. Her voice is but a whisper, but it makes her words more powerful. "I believe that sometimes you know something in your heart. Even if you do not know what it is you feel, it is still there. I believe that dreams can very well tell you what that feeling you have is. I do not have any examples from my own personal experience, but I can assure you that people have dreamed very strange things, and sure enough, they became as true as you and I."

"What if someone had a dream of being in love? The man she is in love with if not the man who she would ever think of even touching, let alone embracing him with passion. What is the woman is a rich woman, and the man is a poor man. The woman is engaged to be married to a man she doesn't even love, but is being forced to marry him besides, because she has no other choice. The fact that the man she is now in love with is so far out in outer space, that she can not believe that her mind has even conjured up the blasted image! What then, Barbara? Would that be true? Or what if this someone also had a dream of a boat that is labeled, 'The Unsinkable', sinking? Such a thing could not be possible. Pray, Barbara, can this be a telling of the future?" I gasp for breath, for I have told a very long speech. I continue, reiterating my point. "Did this woman just get a glimpse of the future!?"

"Mind your voice, Bella," Barbara chides before going on. "I believe that these are two entirely different situations. I believe the dream of falling in love with some poor man, might very well come true, but I believe that it is up to the woman whether or not she chooses it to be true. The other one, on the other hand, I believe, if, mind the if, it were to come true, I believe that it could not be stopped, and could very well be foretold in you dream. Does this make sense to you, dear?"

I nod.

"Do tell me, though, were did you get such dreams?"

My heart skips a beat and I find that I can not answer her question, for it is far too personal for anybody to hear. Barbara seems to realize that I will not answer her question, so she chooses to answer the question herself.

"I see you will not answer. I understand. Though, if I may not be too pushy, I would like to say that you told me these dreams with such emotion that I can take a guess that they might be yours. I will say no more on the subject. Are you done with your tea?"

I nod, unable to say much, for she has discovered my secret.

Yet, I can not make myself regret it. If you can have one friend who knows your secrets, it is better than having ten friends, whom you can confide nothing in.

**Edward's Point of View.**

I run down the corridors until I see the room number that is my destination. Room 125. It is the room of my mother, Elizabeth's long-time friend, Doris. I found out she was riding the boat from my friend, Jasper, who knew just about everybody who was on the third-class ship.

I knock on the door, and it swings open. One of Doris's roommates greets me.

"'Ello. 'Oo are you?"

I am about to respond, but I hear Doris's voice.

"Come, Jade. That is my best friend's son, Edward." She turns to me. "Hello, sweet. What can I do for you?"

I walk through the door into the same room, occupied with two bunk-beds. Doris is on the top bunk of one set, and climbs down to talk.

"Jade, I'll be back in a bit. Will you be alright?"

Jade nods. She's a cute girl, about thirteen.

"Who is Jade, if you don't mind my asking," I say to Doris as we make our way to the outside ship.

"My daughter. She's a feisty one. Doesn't speak good English. I don't have much time on my hands to teach her to pronounce her W's and H's…and several others. Can't afford a private school, and the closet public school is too far away. We live a bit in the middle of no where you see."

I nod, and ask her a question that I don't think she will take offense to, since she is a good friend of my mother's, therefore a good friend of mine. "Is your husband…deceased?" I ask. I quickly say, "I am just asking, for I am so sorry to hear of your poor financial situation."

"Yes. My husband, Matthew, died a year and three quarters ago." She shakes her head. "Are you not in the same financial situation as me?"

I nod. "Yes. But I do not have a child of my own to tend to. I would be much obliged to offer you money—though I am sure it would not be nearly enough. Though, if it would be a help, I would be glad to hand it over."

I dig into my pockets and pull out my seventeen dollars. The seventeen dollars that was meant to last me to New York City, and pay for food and shelter until I can find a job. I do not know if seventeen dollars would even be enough for a piece of bread in America, but it is still all I have. I also find that it is hard to part with the fifteen dollars that Bella once held in her head….

Bloody hell. I am crazy.

I look at my seventeen crumpled up dollars and offer it to Doris.

"Oh, no, Edward! I would not be able to sleep at night, knowing I had taken away your money!"

I laugh it off. "Please, Doris. I have more money in the bag that is in my room."

She looks at me. I see the indecisiveness in her brown eyes. She is spilt between seventeen dollars that she has not had to work for, that would pay for at least a week or two of meals on the table, and the guilt of taking money away from me, though she really needs it.

I shove the money into her hands. "Take it. It is not up to you, the decision is up to me. If you do not want the money, then give it to Jade."

Doris looks at me and smiles. "Thank you so very much, Edward. You remind me so much of Elizabeth."

A pang of sadness rips through me, but I have no time to be sad. "You are so very welcome, Doris."

She puts in the money into a pocket made out of a scrap of cloth, which is located on the hip of her tattered dress.

"Well, thank you again, though I trust that is not why you decided to come visit me?"

I smile. "No. I came to ask you a question."

She nods in encouragement, happy that I came to her for advice.

"You know how much I loath the rich."

"That is not entirely a question."

I look up at the rising sun. "No. Not entirely, I suppose."

Doris laughs. "Where are you going at with this, Edward?"

I scratch my head. "I'm not entirely sure myself, though I will word it as best I can." I start over again. "Well, you know I loath the rich. That isn't much of a surprise. Though, I think I might be a bit of a hypocrite."

I laugh despite myself, but Doris stares at me.

"How are you a hypocrite?"

I have to squint my eyes to see the sun. "I met someone yesterday. She's a first classer, and—"

"A first classer? And what, pray tell, is her name?"

I hesitate. "Bella."

When I say her name and I am surprised that I like how it sounds coming off of my tongue. I could say her name forever and never tire of it.

Doris is deep in thought. "Bella is not a very common name. Lest I don't hear it much. Especially with them upper-class folks. I believe I know her last name, though I can not be sure. Swandle? Squan? Swan? Yes, I believe it is Swan. Am I wrong?"

I find that I am disappointed that I can not tell her whether she is wrong or right, for I have no idea myself what her name is.

"I can not say, for I have not asked her for her last name. I thought such a thing would not be in my place."

Doris laughs a bitter laugh. "Edward, you have no place. None of us do. Not even the rich. A 'place' is something that the higher class made up so they can remain the spoiled bastards they are, and is something that the lower class made up so they would not have to face the so-called 'wrath' of the higher class, by invading their so-called 'space'. You are better than a place, all of us are. We are people."

Doris's speech has me back-tracking. "You are right, Doris."

"I always am," she jokes, and we laugh together. "You do have to understand, though, I am not, under any circumstances, encouraging you to talk to this Bella girl, or possibly even get involved with her. Promise you will be careful."

I scoff. "Careful? I should be afraid of a little rich girl?"

Doris shakes her head. "No. You should be afraid of getting involved. Love isn't always like it is in books. It almost never is. I deeply care for you, Edward, and I don't want you to fall in love with this girl, just so she is call herself better than you and walk away from you forever, leaving you with an unfixable gap in your heart."

"I will not get myself so involved with this girl. I never even said I liked her."

She shakes her head. "Dear me," she mumbles, then brings her hand to her mouth, so her next words are muffled. "You already have begun to love her."

She then dismisses herself, and I head to the very front of the ship.

**Bella's Point of View.**

When Barbara dismisses I decide to head out to the very front of the ship, for Barbara has given me very much to think about.

I am no more than two feet away from the railing, when I notice the man with the bronze hair.

_This does not help myself to think. _

"Hello," I say as I come up beside him and rest my hands on the white railing.

He is surprised to see me, his green eyes flash with excitement, and I find that I am happy.

"What is your last name?" He asked suddenly.

I laugh. "Pardon?"

He turns to me and smirks. It leaves me breathless, and I blush. "Excuse my manners. Hello, Bella, how do you do?"

I look away from his gaze and look up at the sun, which is now almost at the very top of the sky.

"I am doing very well, thank you for asking. My last name is Swan. What is yours, Edward…?"

"Cullen."

Edward Cullen. I like the sound of the two together. Bella Cullen.

Oh, no, no, no! Perhaps the ship is making me mad.

"I would like to apologize," I say. He looks at me and cocks his head to the side, confused. "When I hurt my foot that day, and I made the horrid joke about you eating rat for dinner. And then when I refused you to fix my foot."

"And I made you beg for me to fix it," he adds with a small laugh.

I smile. "And when you made me beg for you to fix it. I am sorry, and I thank you. I feel bad that fifteen dollars is all that I could give you for my gratitude."

I sigh. Fifteen dollars I no longer have.

"No need, Bella. I accept your thanks, and we shall move on from the episode."

He shuffles his feet a step next to me, and our bodies are no more than a whisper of air apart. I find that my breathing is shallow, and I have to switch my stance so that we are no longer close. As I move I trip on a pole and fall to the ground.

"Dear, me!" I gasp as I hit the ground. I am mortified. So mortified that I find that I do not want to get up. I want to melt into the wooden boards.

A hand seizes mine, and I look up. Edward's face blocks the face of the sun and the rays of it surround him.

An angel.

I grip his hand and he pulls me up.

He continues to pull me until our bodies touch. This time there isn't room for a whisper of air to run between our bodies. I gasp in shock, but I do not move.

"I wish I could explain," he swallows. "These feelings I feel. I admit, I am prejudice against your society, but I find you are very different."

I swallow, too. "I must admit, also, that I am also prejudice against your society. But, I find you very different. In a good way."

His hand, barely touching my back, moves up and down.

"What are we to do?" He asks, a naughty smile on his lips.

I am sure I am blushing deeper than blood itself, though I am not ashamed, and can not bring myself to care at the moment.

"We should say goodbye and not speak again."

He nods, considering this. "You have not answered the question, Bella. I did not ask what we should do—I have asked what we are to do. Do you see the difference?"

Indeed I do.

"We could," I swallow, "have a secret between us, I suppose."

"If something needs to be a secret, than it should not continue."

"Yes, but, I would be disinherited. Please. Only for now, it will be our secret."

Again, he considers this. "Our secret," he agrees, then lifts my chin up with his finger.

His lips crush into mine, and I reach onto my tiptoes to kiss him back earnestly. My hands tangle in his hair, and his hands wrap around my waist, pulling me closer to him. H bends his back slightly, so I am lifted off of the ground. I am weightless. I am free. I am no longer going to do what I am told. I am taking a risks, and I find that I love the price of the risk.

We continue to kiss until I am afraid someone will catch us. Our lips are swollen, and I am not ashamed.

"I will see you later, my dear Bella."

I smile. "You didn't say goodbye."

He shakes his head. "It's more like, _hello_."

* * *

_Alright, this is the LONGEST chapter I have ever written in my fanfiction life. 3,500+ words. Wow. I am so proud of myself._

_They are finally together!! Come, celebrate with me! _

_REVIEW!!_


	8. Chapter 8 Note

_Sorry for the long update! I have to put this note here, though, because it won't let people who reviewed the note before, review the new chapter._


	9. Chapter 9 It's not what it looks like

"James," I say, tapping him lightly on the shoulder. "Where's mother?"

"Ah, Bella," he replies, and I notice an underlying tone in his carefree voice. It's subtle and is hardly noticeable, but it is there. "Where have you been?" he says, and the angry volcano that is erupting inside of him becomes more evident.

"Walking along the ship," I lie, and I hate to admit that my hands are shaking in fear. I have only seen James loose him temper once, at one of the guards in front of his house gate, and the outcome was fatal. The man had a temper. "Now can you tell me where mother is, please?"

He turns around, and I see his face is scraped, bloodied, and bruised. I'm absolutely horrified, and I gasp, my hand fluttering to my face. "My God, James, what has happened to you?"

He laughs, and it sounds very sadistic to me. I find myself backing away from him, and I only stop when I hit a wall.

"What," he laughs. "What has happened to me…?" He cuts his laugh short and strikes me across the face. I yelped in shock, and instantly reach up to touch the cheek that he struck. I do not feel pain at the moment, but I know I will in a few minutes. I looked up into his eyes, and do not recognize what I see. I see anger, betrayal, and even embarrassment.

"James…" I start, wanting to calm him down before he struck me again. "What is going on?"

"Shut your mouth," he yells, and I cringe. I begin to pray that somebody will hear him, for I begin to fear for my life.

I see his arm pull back, and I instinctively reach up to cover my face. I feel his fist punch me in the stomach, and I find myself gagging from the force he had used. I wasn't sure if I was sick with fear, or if he had done some kind of damage to my stomach.

James freezes as he sees me gag, and I think to myself that he is done hitting me and he is sorry, but then he starts hitting me over, and over, and over again. My breast, my face, my back, anywhere he could hit me, he did. "You stupid, stupid, bitch!" He yells to me over and over again. "Damn bitch!"

I stopped trying to get him to stop, and instead I chose to just lay there and say nothing. What gratitude would he get from hitting me then? If I don't scream or act in pain.

He continues to hit, kick, and punch me. Again and again and again. I bit my mouth shut to keep from screaming, and it takes everything I have not to shield my face from the blows. I taste blood in my mouth, and I begin to get lightheaded. I could never stand the sight or taste of blood without fainting, and although being unconscious sounded rather nice at the moment, I couldn't bear to think of what he would do to me, if I were unconscious.

I hear a knock at the door, and it is the only thing keeping me from fainting.

James stops immediately and begins to panic. "Get up, Bella," he says in a low, commanding voice. "Get _up_."

I wanted to get up more than anything—lying on the floor was such a defenseless, helpless place to be—but I couldn't. I kept telling my body to move, but it wouldn't listen.

"Excuse me," my mother yells from behind the door. "Open up, please."

"Bella," James tries once more, "get up this instant."

I try again, reaching my arm up to the small table next to me. I feel around for something to help me up, but my arm gives out, and it falls to the ground with an object I had grasped.

I hear my mother push open the door, and at that instant many things happened at once.

James collapses onto the floor, his face and clothes stained with my fresh blood. My mother comes in and screams, then screams louder when she looks at the object in my hand. I look down at it, and I instantly know what is running through her head, for in my fist is a knife, and James is bloodied and collapsed on the floor. I felt like saying, Mother, this wasn't me. That's _my_ blood on him, but I fainted.

**Sorry for the long update! I am working on updating at least two different stories every week. And sorry this chapter is so short, but I needed this chapter to take place, so the next chapter will be longer—I promise.**

**REVIEW!!!!please.**


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